BE AU T Y K NOWS NO PA I N
e’re back, live from Earth, where, in a few moments we’ll know who is going to be the next Miss Human Being of the century. But, first, our last finalist: Hope, on stage, weighing ninety tons — and still, lighter than a feather —, watch out for her measurements: 15 inches tall, 184 feet bust, 32” waist, mile round hips with a half-mile long smile, she’s a dream girl for sure. A Quantic Physics graduate at Sri Lanka University, her hobbies include melting polar ice caps and eating stuffed crab shells. She would also like to discover the cure for toe cancer and the meaning of life, just as soon as pigs start flying in Malasia. She can definitely fill out a bikini, and name her algorithms and the square roots of our foreign debt at any time. It keeps her humour tanned and shiny like a sunday morning atom bomb. She doesn’t mess around, she’s ready and shaved and determined to win.
The judges check the stars through the telescope, the audience through binoculars and their consciences through electron microscopes. The gamblers are ready and betting high: it’s a close race, even though Hope has murdered all the other contestants. Last month’s champion has had her crown of thorns surgically removed, resigned and can’t wait to trade her dead weight belt and heels for a trip to Acapulco. The crowd goes wild with the sponsor’s ads, Hope tap dances all over her opponents’ dead bodies, whistling cat food jingles and smoking big cigars. The judges flip a coin. Hope sells all of her stockfunds as the crowd claps madly at the apllause sign. And here it is, only two moths late, the sealed envelope with the results and the bill. Ladies and gentlemen, we will announce the winner after the commercial break.
Brazillian independent comics magazine. More at www.revistabeleleu.com.br